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Ryan is falling.
He’s falling and he thinks he’s been falling since the beginning.
(There’s a problem, you see, and the problem is he isn’t sure what the beginning is. Ryan could argue it was back when he was little and could see shadows dancing in the corner of his room, his small body trembling with fear. Perhaps it was when he was on the Queen Mary as a reckless teenager, taunting the ghosts to come and get him! He was foolish that way. Or maybe, maybe, it was during the Sallie House when he felt something attach to him, follow him home and plague his dreams. Ryan’s not sure what the beginning is, but that’s okay because there are some days he’s not sure are real.
There are side effects to falling.)
It is ironic when it comes down to it. Ryan hunts the paranormal, seeks out those demons hissing and crawling their way out of hell. His biggest fear is hearing them try to drag Ryan down or somehow become a demon himself. Now he’s living a different nightmare of vibrant colors and muted emotions, thoughts whirling around his head. And it isn’t because he’s a demon but rather an angel cast from heaven, wings burning as he arcs gracefully through the sky. He’s choking on smoke and ash as he transforms into a meteor, hurtling towards Earth. He’s falling and no one is there to catch him, slow down his descent before he obliterates something good (or himself).
(Ryan isn’t sure if he can count himself as “something good” because he hasn’t been the best son recently nor the best coworker or the best best friend to a certain long-legged creature who’s been looking a little down.)
When Ryan sits at his desk Wednesday morning after a night of staring at his ceiling, actively avoiding the corners in case something is there, he spills coffee all over his keyboard. Old Ryan, the one who hadn’t tripped over the leg of Life, the one who was too big in any space with his loud laugh and odd ramblings, would’ve jumped away dramatically and made a huge ordeal out of the whole thing. The version of Ryan who is present is actually 5 minutes behind, so it takes him a bit to realize Shane is shooting him concerned looks as his long fingers mop up the mess on Ryan’s desk.
“Ryan?” A hand snaps in front of his face and it sticks just a little from the sugar Ryan doesn’t remember adding to his drink. “Are you okay?”
Ryan focuses on his now clean desk. He’s lucky he didn’t spill anything on his pants.
(It’s strange because sometimes he doesn’t feel, but other times he feels too much. One moment, he could be laying in bed without thinking, and the next, he’s hyperventilating because he’s falling too fast, unable to catch his breath. Distantly, he wonders why he feels this way.
He knows that’s an easy question.)
“Ryan?” A small voice tentatively asks again, concern drip dripping from each letter.
“It’s just a side effect of falling,” he answers.
(But not really because his response doesn’t make any sense to Shane, and it certainly doesn’t help the worry he feels for Ryan. It’s odd, so very odd, that Shane doesn’t know what’s going on in that noggin of his. He is so used to Ryan’s vulnerability, his face open and welcoming because he trusts with his entire heart and Shane—well, Shane doesn’t exactly know how to reciprocate.
It often feels like a ledge too high to jump up. Even with his lanky frame, he can’t brush his fingers on the looming cliff above him. He’s left craning his neck as he tries not to be afraid of an avalanche of consequences and emotions tumbling down and crushing him. He’s too busy squinting upwards in an attempt to spot Ryan, not realizing he’s already on the way down.
There are side effects to being on the ground.)
On location, everyone feels the air shift. Ryan has always been prone to freak-outs but now they’re different. It isn’t terror in every mannerism covered with laughs because of Shane—not anymore. It’s tightly shut eyes and a mouth pressed into a thin line, shaking hands and aching limbs. Ryan doesn’t try to speak to the ghosts often, and he looks seconds away from a full-blown panic attack. It doesn’t play well for the camera, Mark quietly admits to no one in particular. TJ lifts his shoulders in a weak imitation of a shrug. Fans will probably be more concerned than annoyed. Devon mumbles something along the lines of Don’t worry about it. Simultaneously, they all look over to see Ryan staring fearfully at the floor and Shane deep in thought, his gaze towards the ceiling.
After wrapping up a shoot that will stay in the books as the infamously Stilted Episode, everyone tiredly heads towards the hotel. The rustle of key cards exchanging hands and murmured goodnights are the only noises in the dead night. Ryan is exhausted mentally and physically, and the fact that him and Shane have to share a bedroom means it’ll be emotionally pretty soon.
(It was a deal that was easy in the moment. Three bedrooms instead of five in exchange for more money in the traveling budget. Simple because TJ and Mark didn’t mind, Devon still got her own, and Shane had just shrugged because it made sense. But Ryan had felt his descent speed up when he nodded along, terminal velocity fast approaching—and the ground.)
“Ryan, what’s going on?” Shane asks immediately as Ryan crashes onto one of the beds.
“I don’t know.” His voice is muffled, the wind whipping his words away. “I thought it was the ghosts, but I don’t think it is. Or, I mean, maybe it is, but not entirely.” Ryan’s eyes slip close and he tries to breathe steadily through the fear. He can feel things crawling up his spine and the walls of the room closing in, the shadows moving on their own. He wants to cry.
“What the fuck are you talking about, man?” Shane says, confusion twisting his words into paper airplanes and sending them Ryan’s way.
But Ryan’s fingers only grab some of them, the others brushing against his fingers as he tries to reach for them. Their unpredictable pattern sends them flying wildly through the air, and Ryan tries not to scream in frustration as he misses some.
Lifting his head, he turns to Shane and asks, “Sorry, what?”
Shane just huffs a laugh and shakes his head. “You’ve really been out of it recently.”
“I’m just falling,” Ryan says, “no biggie.” With him now facing Shane, he can see the scrunched up features. “I’ve been having trouble doing basic adult functions.”
Shane snorts and says, “I hate to break it to you, but you’ve been struggling for a while.”
“Shut up, Shane,” Ryan laughs. He throws a pillow, but both of them know that the anger isn’t real.
“Seriously, Ryan, if there’s anything—I know, like, you have a lot of stress—look, little guy, I don’t…” Shane runs a hand through his messy hair, making it stick up like little blades of grass. It’s a little comforting to Ryan because he can’t usually see the top of Shane’s head, and if it’s starting to look like the ground with its earth-brown tones and grass-like structure…well, he can’t be falling if he never sees the end.
But he is falling in this conversation, slipping and tripping and missing words.
With a deep breath, Shane lowers his eyes and admits, “I just want to help you. Something is really bothering you.”
There’s silence in the room that fills instantly with awkward tension. It’s not a big deal, what Shane said. It’s a true and accurate representation of their friendship.
The only problem is, Ryan doesn’t know how to answer. He sits up and the clock steadily ticks on as he glares at the patterned carpet. Right now, any type of floor makes him angry and uneasy, the earlier respite (tangent) of Shane’s hair forgotten. He realizes his hands are trembling so he clenches them around his knees. Shane is still waiting for an answer, but Ryan can’t even meet his eyes because his own are stinging.
A soft sob makes Ryan clench his mouth shut. He’s streaking through the sky, edges crumbling off, himself burning up in the process. He’s terrified of nothing, of something, and he’s stumbling all of a sudden (over his thoughts, his words, his feet), towards Shane.
And he’s falling,
and falling,
and falling,
watching stars burn up, searing his vision. He’s racing meteors across the universe, struggling to navigate the Milky Way, almost, almost, allowing a black hole to swallow him before he’s knocked out of range and begins to enter Earth’s atmosphere. His hands, his head, his heart ablaze with an astonishing light, and Ryan knows he would be granted a beautiful name like Halley’s Comet that he missed seeing by a mere four years.
But all he wants is to stop feeling so lost because he’s fallingfallingfalling.
(He’s really tired of the side effects.)
Shane’s bed hits his knees and Ryan’s tumbling onto it, curling up as he tries not to cry about anything and everything.
(And Shane, like always, is above him. His position might be higher, but that doesn’t reduce the feeling that he’s still trying to peek above a cliff that he’ll never reach. He’s on the ground but not necessarily grounded, not in the way he wants to be. His neck is beginning to ache from staring up.
But he’ll take the side effects of being on the ground if it means he’ll see Ryan.)
“Ryan? Ryan, I know this is a dumb question, but what’s wrong? How can I—What do I do?” Shane's voice is a little scared, and Ryan doesn't blame him. If positions were reversed, he’d be freaking out.
Ryan rubs at his face, forcing himself to swallow his tears. “Sorry,” he apologizes and his voice breaks halfway through. “I’m really sorry, man, I don’t know what just happened. I haven’t really been with it rec—"
“It’s okay,” Shane interrupts. “It’s okay, Ryan, but I think you need to talk to someone.” His voice is shaky and he swallows.
He knows Shane doesn’t necessarily mean himself, but Ryan still blurts, “I’ve been falling, um, in my head. I thought—I thought ghosts were the reason why. I’ve just been so caught up in everything and these locations have been really getting to me. I guess—I’m just tired, you know?”
(Ryan meets his gaze, and Shane understands what he means about falling because he’s watching constellations form in Ryan’s watery eyes. He forces himself to look away before he can’t.
There’s an argument Shane could make right now about possibilities. Perhaps, for some miraculous reason, he’s beginning to fly and he’ll meet Ryan in the middle. Or maybe, maybe, Shane was always supposed to stay on the ground because he and Ryan have always been complementary opposites who work together unbelievably well.
Or, more likely because they are who they are and have continuously done so, they’ll miss each other completely, but Shane doesn’t know if he could ever deal with that side effect—not now.)
Shane settles a hand on Ryan’s face, his palm cool. It’s a gesture of friendship—a way to fight the loneliness. Ryan leans into it, tries to will away the smell of burning clothes and fried hair. He’s still lying down and watches Shane stare at the ceiling as he processes.
“What is it, then?” Shane eventually croaks, glancing back at Ryan. “You said you thought it was ghosts, but if it isn’t them then…what is it?”
Ryan hesitates and looks away. “I don’t know. Maybe I am losing it.” (He avoids the truth and hopes it isn’t obvious because he’s too scared to take that chance.) “I haven’t been able to sleep, and you know how I get after visiting some places. I can’t—I don’t think I can deal with something following me home, not…not again.” Ryan is staring at the bedspread, his fingers pulling on a loose thread, busy wishing that the something doesn’t want him dead.
Shane’s mouth tugs into a frown, and Ryan knows he was caught. He holds his breath, but apparently neither of them want to take the plunge. They end up skirting around the edge of the water with a Ghosts aren’t real, Ryan and a Shut up, Shane that they both know are automatic responses.
They go to sleep in their separate beds with similar thoughts, each wondering about the what ifs.
There are side effects to being scared.
Ryan thinks it’s a Saturday, but there is a possibility it’s actually Sunday. He knows for sure that he’s cold, though, frigid in a way he’s never felt before. He bundles himself up in blankets and sweatshirts, but the chill is radiating from the inside out.
Is this what space feels like?
A knock at his door makes Ryan jump. He immediately knows it’s Shane and there’s a problem, you see, and the problem is he’s not sure he can handle this nor the blooming warmth in his chest that’s slowly pushing out the bitter ice.
(He’s still falling and he’s so unbearably tired of it. It used to be ghosts and ghouls, each whisper sending him spiraling down faster and faster. But for a while now it’s been Shane’s laugh, eyes bright with mischief. It’s his stupid jokes and ability to irritate Ryan and calm him down all at once.
It’s the fact that Shane is so laid back, so relaxed with himself that he can be vulnerable. Ryan vividly remembers the footage of Shane wanting to believe in ghosts, but it’s impossible for him to defy science—he overthinks it all. And Ryan himself understands the problem of being too caught up in your own head, but he could have never imagined the ache of wishing for something—someone—he couldn’t possibly have. He always used to feel a sort of sympathy towards Shane because how could you realize a thing like that and then say it on camera?
He now knows how hard it is to be aware of wanting something unattainable and the idea of admitting it terrifies him. That sympathy for Shane has now turned into admiration.
Not all side effects are bad.)
Ryan is still sitting on the couch when Shane unlocks the door himself. He’s carrying takeout and his hair is windswept.
“I know it was rude of me, but my arms were getting tired. Plus you gave me this key for a reason, and you’ve sorta been out of it, so I figured you were lost in your head.” Shane’s fingers flutter near his hair as he talks, almost whacking himself in the face with the food.
Ryan gets up and takes the bags from Shane. He busies himself with setting stuff out as he asks, “How do you know I wasn’t showering or something? I could’ve been walking around my apartment naked for all you know.”
Shane makes a surprised face and bursts into laughter. His eyes crinkle in the corners and the tips of his ears are red. “Well that’d be mighty rude of you to not answer the door,” he says in that ridiculous way.
Ryan just laughs and lightly shoves him.
They’re sharing a bowl of popcorn watching some movie they’ve both seen a thousand times. Ryan’s mind is elsewhere like always these days. He looks over to see Shane still absorbed in the movie, the special effects bathing his face in odd colors.
The cosmos look like this, Ryan thinks. Nebulas and galaxies distorting waves to create colors unimaginable. Ryan smiles to himself. The stars made Shane unimaginable.
Shane glances over and catches his eye. He grins a mischievous sort of thing that slowly melts into something…peaceful. His body turns to completely face Ryan, and a long, long arm slings itself onto the back of the couch. He looks at home.
“What’s up?” Shane asks, leaning his head on his arm. His hair is a wild mess.
Ryan doesn’t know exactly what Shane means by his question, and he must express this somehow on his face because Shane rolls his eyes good-naturedly and says, “I meant…you know,” he gesticulates wildly before giving up, “with your head, little guy.”
Ryan shrugs. “It’s been the same. It’s good that I only have editing left for the episodes instead of traveling more.” He shrugs again, bones weary as he lies straight through his teeth.
A frustrated noise escapes Shane’s lips. “It’s not just ghosts, Ryan, is it?” There’s this challenging look in his eyes, like his question is some sort of a dare.
Ryan’s brows furrow as he debates on how to answer the question. He chews on his lip as he tries to gauge how brave he feels. “No,” he says slowly, “uh, not really. Ghosts are a part of it, though. It just…isn’t the whole truth, I guess.” And oh, what a stupidly brave answer.
“Then what is it?” Both of them hear the repetition from last time where they avoided the truth, ran away from it as fast as they could. With a deep sigh, Shane’s entire demeanor relaxes and his hand covers Ryan’s. It takes all of his willpower not to jerk away with surprise. “Do you remember that night in the bar after you—“ (almost cried) “—after our last location?”
They were sitting in a dim bar nursing beers that were wet with condensation. It was a few days after Ryan’s Episode, and he was light years away, busy naming stars.
“Would you be scared of falling if someone was there to catch you?” Shane had asked quietly, but Ryan heard him. It brought him back to Earth before his oxygen ran out.
There was also a message there, underlying Shane’s soft tone.
A whisper of something.
A promise.
Ryan listened and never forgot.
Shane looks at him questioningly. There’s nervousness and worry in his eyes creating a maelstrom of emotions. All of a sudden, determination flickers to life. It powers the violent storm, and Ryan knows he won’t get away with a weak deflection like last time.
He isn’t sure if he wants to avoid the real answer either.
Ryan’s hands shake as his anxiety skyrockets. So many things can go wrong and he knows it. Each fear is an asteroid that orbits around the dying star inside of Ryan that he decided just then to name Hope.
Ryan trusts Shane with his life, and Shane—well, Shane swore he would protect it. He can’t lie, he’s been thinking about that question for ages trying to reassure himself it means what he thinks. He takes a deep breath and nods.
With flailing limbs and panic in his throat, Ryan leaps
…
and flies.
He laughs euphorically into the kiss, that dying star slowly, impossibly gaining back life. Its gravitational pull becomes weaker and weaker, the asteroids hovering but not close enough to get sucked in. His freezing hands are on Shane's warm, so-very-much-alive-and-here face, and the sensation keeps him from succumbing to the cold of space. He feels large hands and curious fingers on his hips; each touch becomes a planet rotating around Hope.
(And in that moment, Ryan realizes he was wrong. He was so, so wrong. How could he have thought him and Shane wouldn’t work? How could he have believed that Shane didn’t belong with him in the air as they took over the world? How could he have been so stupid, so unfathomably silly in his calculations to not realize that ofcourseofcourseofcourse this would be something beautiful and strong.
No one is going to get hurt.)
Ryan doesn’t need Shane to catch him because he’s soaring on his own, completely in control. It took him a long time to realize that the ground is something solid and reassuring—something he shouldn’t be afraid of. He couldn’t force it to save him; he had to do it himself. Pulling away from a disoriented Shane, Ryan smiles so wide. He was falling, and it was terrifying, but Shane is here with him as they both glide through the air, happiness keeping them airborne.
Connecting their foreheads, Ryan mumbles, “I think I love you.”
(And Shane, Shane realizes that Ryan fell right into his arms, and now they’re both on the ground, and Shane is finally grounded again. Ryan’s soft lips, roaming hands, quiet noises—all of it helps Shane focus on what’s right beside him rather than unconsciously looking up. The pain from holding everything in starts to fade.
Shane used to hate the sky because that’s all he stared at, but now it’s beautiful and breathtaking. He couldn’t will Ryan into existence by wishing; he had to act, he had to earn.)
Shane smiles something gentle and private and says, “I think I love you too.”
There are side effects to loving somebody.